Before we get to the d’var Torah, the sermon, I just want to say, what a fabulous weekend at CKI. From First Friday Family Shabbat with our little ones learning about chesed, acts of loving kindness and making heart cookies, one to eat and one to donate, to Larry Kushner’s Book about the Hands of G-d, to Shira’s haftarah, just WOW! and Nikki’s palm tree cookies, and Nina’s brunch, and Nikki’s Tu B’shevat challah baking with the kids, to my Alef Bet who sang Dayenu by reading it! What a weekend! This is what I live for. 

Today is called Shabbat Shira, the Sabbath of Song. We mark it by reading, singing, chanting the Song at the Sea and the haftarah’s Song of Deborah. How perfect that we have Shira chanting haftarah for the first time. We are grateful to her and to Rabbi Gordon for teaching her. To quote Talmud, “Much I have learned from my teachers, even more from my colleagues and the most from my students.”  

This is a remarkable moment at CKI, and yet not. Let’s think about this for a moment. I am a woman rabbi. Rabbi Gordon is a woman rabbi. Shira is a woman. We have a woman who is our cantorial soloist. We had women who have been CKI presidents. This doesn’t always happen everywhere in the Jewish community.  

Historically, women didn’t count in a minyan, the required group of 10 adults to hold a full service. Congregation Kneseth Israel has counted women since the 50s. Women and men have sat together for generations, since Walter Kohlhagen told his wife he wouldn’t join CKI unless he could sit with her, something they had done for years in West Hartford, CT. So she said come sit with me and he did. My husband calls her the original Rosa Parks. We have had Bat Mitzvah ceremonies here since before Barbara Simon Njus and Sue Sharf Johnson had theirs. Women have had aliyot here since the 50s. Blossom Wohl was the first. I am not the first woman rabbi. Rabbi Debra Eisenman was the first and was written up in the Chicago Trib: https://www.chicagotribune.com/1992/12/04/rabbi-creates-stir-in-congregation/  Then there was Reb Deb Greene.  

And yet, this nonsensical notion of Kol Isha, the voice of a woman as an almost evil thing is still contested in parts of the Jewish community and in Israel itself.  

I stand here proudly wearing my Woman of the Wall tallit. Women of the Wall has stood at the Western Wall since Chanukah 1988 arguing and demonstrating for equal access to this most holy of sites. Every month they are subjected to men and yes women screaming at them, whistling and even worse. Assaulting them for carrying or possessing a Torah or putting on tefilin. Both of which are not prohibited by Jewish law, yet some people think are.  

Why is this so complicated? So fraught?  

Historically, our codes, written by men, warn that a woman’s voice may be too alluring. (If you need me to spell that out I will at the Kiddush) Historically, women are exempt (but not prevented or prohibited) from time bound mitzvot.  

I remember working at an assisted living facility in Boston. A woman came up to me after services and said that it was a lovely kiddush, but now could a man do it, so it would count. Even here we had someone argue that HE would do a better Kol Nidre rather that our cantorial soloist Stephanie because he was a male and it would count. Kol Nidre is a legal declaration, and back in the day women could not be witnesses. Therefore, a woman couldn’t chant Kol Nidre.  

Once when the Men’s Club was hosting a regional event a former member of CKI walked in and praised the breakfast that the women must have made. It wasn’t the Men’s Club breakfast. The men had done that themselves and it was in the library. Then he said something about only counting men for the minyan. I quipped something like, “Here we count men and women. But if you are only counting men, I am sure there will be enough today.” Welcoming but clear.  

This is a congregation that embraces diversity in religious observance, so if you come from a more traditional background and only count men in a minyan, yes, I as your rabbi have arranged for that. For funerals. For shivas. For other events. If I work with Rabbi Shem Tov at Chabad, I understand our ground rules. I can speak or tell stories but not sing. And I appreciate his respect. 

It doesn’t always happen that way. Especially in Israel. Depending on governmental coalitions, women are not allowed to say Kaddish at a graveside. Women’s voices are not on the radio. And tragically, women intelligence officers were not believed before October 7th.  

And yet, here we are at today’s texts. Miriam and Deborah. Two women we revere. Two women of seven granted the designation of prophetess. Sarah, Miriam, Deborah, Hannah, Huldah, Abigail, and Esther. 

Today’s text about Miriam begins: 

“Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dancing. And Miriam chanted for them, “Sing to the Lord, who has triumphed gloriously. Horse and rider were thrown into the sea.” 

Such relief at escaping such danger. The gratitude is palpable and physical. They danced. They sang. They played their timbrels.  Often, I play a game with children—sometimes even adults at the Passover seder or recently when people were forced to flee the California fires. If you were leaving Egypt in haste—what would you take with you. I get the usual answers—food, water, sunscreen. It is the desert after all. My family, my stuffed animals, my dog, my GameBoy, camera, photos, books. No one has ever said timbrel—or frankly any musical instrument. But somehow these women knew, they took food, lamb and matzah baked in haste, their neighbors’ gold and their timbrels. They knew that out there in that desert there would be opportunities to celebrate, to rejoice, to be grateful. How did they know? 

Read Sandy Sasso’s book here: 

This singing and dancing, her singing and dancing, is emblematic of her deep gratitude. They are her prophesy. She chooses life over death, gratitude over bitterness, joy of the moment over fear. 

However, she is not alone in this. Biblical scholars believe that Miriam’s song maybe a fragment of a larger poem that has been lost. However, we do have its parallel—Moses’s song which has made its way into our daily liturgy—both in its entirety as Az yashir in the morning service and as Michamocha, asking “Who is like You, O Lord”. He and the Israelites are grateful too. 

The full text includes two verses that I want to comment on both of which are personal expressions of gratitude to God. 

Ozi v’zimrat Yah, vayahi li yeshua 

The Lord is my strength and my might. And He was my salvation (or deliverer). Zimrat can either be read as my might which Rashi does or as my song, Either way it is an expression of deep gratitude, and I suspect the double entendre was intentional. Perfect for this morning with members of Shabbat Zimrah, The Sabbath of Song here to support Shira. 

Zeh eli 

This is my God. Zeh as the demonstrative pronoun is seen as a finger pointing to what is seen, what is real, not just a vision. Usually when we pray in Judaism, the words of our liturgy are written in the plural. Notice that here, in the midst of great communal redemption that this prayer is written in the singular—The Lord is MY strength and MY might, MY salvation, MY God. Why? 

In the Michamocha itself, we say, Zeh Eli anu v’amru—This is MY God, THEY answered and said. 

Mekhilta teaches us that while Ezekiel and Isaiah had visions of the Divine, “even a slave woman at the shore of the sea, saw directly the power of the Almighty in splitting the sea All recognized in that instant their personal redemption and therefore all of them opened their mouths to sing in unison.  

Think about the setting. The Israelites have just crossed the sea. They are finally free. How would you feel? Relieved? Joyous? Tired? Anxious? You might think, “Wow!” Or maybe as our Hebrew School kids said, “That was cool!” “That was amazing!” “That was awesome.” “Do it again!” “How did You do that?” “What just happened here?” “What happened to the Egyptians?” “We are safe now.” “We are free.” “Thank you G-d.” “Hallelujah.” One girl said she would have fainted. They got the awesomeness of this moment. Just like Moses when he first sang Mi Chamocha. And we echoed it. And that is what real prayer is–the prompting our hearts to what is going on around us. 

And our text proclaims, “Ze Eli! This is my G-d!” They said. Together as one. An entry point into spirituality. One each of us needs to find for ourselves. Today. Not just historically. So that when we sing, “Ze Eli,” we mean it for ourselves. Each of us individually. 

Moses wasn’t the only one who sang. Miriam took a tof, a timbrel, a tambourine, a drum in her hand and led the women in song. 

I learned recently that in the Dead Sea Scrolls, in the Qumran text there is an addition to the Biblical text. Preserved in the feminine imperative are half the lines of Miriam’s song. It was thrilling to learn about this and the link between this song and other women’s songs, such as Deborah’s song, which we will also read this morning, Hannah’s prayer, and Judith’s. These pieces of poetry, song are amongst the oldest in scripture. 

http://digitalcommons.unl.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1096&context=classicsfacpub 

https://rabbisylviarothschild.com/tag/meaning-of-the-name-miriam/ 

And for me as a woman rabbi, it makes modern day arguments about why some Jews misquote Jewish texts to make women’s voices in prayer not kosher. Those arguments seem less and less valid. Women have always prayed. Women have always sung. Women will continue to do so. 

Bo means come. Like in Lecha Dodi when we sing, Boi Kallah, Come O Bride. But it also means Go, like in Let my people go. 

Today, as we do every day, every week, we recite the blessing, Baruch ata Adonai,Eloheinu melech ha’olam, matir asurim. Blessed are You, Lord, our G-d who frees the captive. This is part of the morning blessings, and as such had to do with unfurling our captive limbs from bed. And its double meaning of real captives. We repeat the phrase in Nishmat Kol Chai and then again in the second paragraph of the Amidah. This is a powerful phrase and the burden of rescuing hostages or captives is a very high one in Judaism.  

The rabbis of the Talmud taught that we should say 100 blessings a day. Saying the morning blessings (page 65 in Siddur Sim Shalom) gets us to 15. We are on our way. 

Gates of Prayer and retained in Mishkan Tefilah has a prayer before Kaddish that includes, “It is hard to sing of oneness when our world is not complete.” That speaks to the tremendous grief that we are still feeling. At the death of 1200+ on October 7th, at the death of thousands of Gazans, including far too many children, at the death of those killed on the plane crash over the Potomoc with more children, talented skaters, or the plane that crashed in Philadelpha with a young child on a medical flight. And yes, our own personal grief about our own personal tragedies and losses. The pain is real. It is palpable as we await word, of hostages released today including Yarden Bibas while the rest of the Bibas still waits including the two youngest hostages, Kfir and Ariel as well as their mother, Shari and the remainder of the hostages.  

Nonetheless, today we are grateful that another three hostages have been released and returned to their families. This includes Israeli-American Keith Siegel.  

Apparently reported in multiple sources, Keith used to tell his fellow hostages that they should strive to find one thing they were grateful for every day as a way to find a little light in those dark tunnels. I sometimes stand here and say at Modim Anachnu Lach, never mind 100 reasons to be grateful, just find one and concentrate your attention on that.  

Research has shown that being grateful can lead to finding meaning and that can lead to finding joy. Victor Frankl, himself an Auschwitz survivor and the author of Man’s Search for Meaning, and the developer of logotherapy, part of the larger discipline of positive psychology, said “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning 

He also said, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how’.”
― Viktor E. Frankl, Man’s Search for Meaning  

His understanding of this topic, began when he himself was a prisoner in Auschwitz. He felt that those who could find their own why did better in Auschwitz than those who did not. 

Today’s parsha is a pivotal portion.  

It is in this portion we are told, “And you shall explain to your child on that day, ‘It is because of what GOD did for me when I went free from Egypt.’” 

Each of us has a story. Each of us has a story of liberation, of freedom from some narrow place. Mitzrayim, the Hebrew for Egypt, also means narrow place. It is up to each of us to figure out that meaning, to figure out how to tell the story. Whether that is sitting around the dining room table at a Passover seder, or interviewing bubbe and zayde for a class project, or writing an ethical will. Or on a morning like this when we are gathered to celebrate another trip around the sun for one of our dearest members, one who brings us heat and light and warmth and wine for kiddush and havdalah.  

She has quite the story to tell in her (almost) 90 years and has created quite the legacy, right here at CKI. Today, we honor her this morning for that. And more importantly with her family, many of which we managed to gather here today. But she is a behind the scenes kind of gal. Taking the levels of tzedakah that the Rambam taught us to heart. Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day. Teach a woman to fish and she will fish for a lifetime and feed thousands. That is part of the Franks-Lindow legacy.  

Our parsha has more to teach. When Moses was negotiating the release of the Israelites, he refused Pharaoh’s offer to allow only the men to go–because a community needs all of its parts to be whole, and everyone has value no matter their age or gender! 

When the Israelites finally left Egypt, they left as a erev rav, a mixed multidate. We came together as one b’nei yisrael, children of Israel with many kinds of diversity. Our vision statement, crafted by some of the people in this very room includes embracing diversity. Look around you—we are quite diverse,  

All kinds of diversity. Religious observance. Country of origin. Age. Community. Level of ability, and disability. People who were born Jewish, people like in our story wanted to become Jewish and throw their lot in with us. That is part of why I am teaching Intro to Judaism right now. People wanting to become Jewish since October 7th is up, according to what we are experiencing right here and in an article in the New Yorker magazine. This is a class Helen is actually taking proving that at 90 there is always something more you can learn, another of our pillars, life long learning. All while building community. 

That is also part of her legacy.  May she, may we, find that meaning in our lives and live ad meah esrim to 120 years just like Moses. 

I feel like I need a glass of wine for this:
Dam Tzefardea Kinim Arov Dever Sh’chin Barad Arbeh Choshech Makat Bechorot
The Ten Plagues. Our text today has us in the middle of them. We know this story so well.
This stop and start. The stop and start. This will they be released. Won’t they be released. I am pleased to announce that yes, four more hostages were released today. Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olam matir asurim. But that is not enough. 

Shlach et ami, Let my people go. All of them. From the youngest little Bibas. To the oldest. Alive or dead. When the Israelites were finally freed, they took the bones of Joseph with them, as they had promised 400 years earlier, so he could be buried in the Land of Israel. Rescuing captive, hostages, is a high value in Judaism, and Jewish communities all over the world still hold designated funds specifically for this mitzvah.  

The early part of our portion gives us lines we know so well from the Passover Haggadah. Four parts of redemption. Four promises of G-d: 

• I will take you out: God will rescue the Israelites from slavery in Egypt  

• I will save you: God will free the Israelites from the penalty of sin  

• I will redeem you: God will equip the Israelites to accomplish his plans for them  
• I will take you as a nation 

But the Haggadah asks if there is a fifth promise, because the redemption is not complete. I will bring you…to the land that I promised to your ancestors, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. This is why we have Elijah who appears to the Passover seder. To bring redemption. To herald the messianic age, where there will be peace throughout the world. Where there will be no more wars and no more hostages.  

 Yet in our text, there is problem. Pharaoh’s heart is hard. Heavy. Pharaoh is stubborn. Sometimes it seems that he hardens his own heart. Is it fear? He’s afraid he will lose his source of labor? His power? Will these slaves attack him?  

Or as the text also says, is G-d hardening Pharaoh’s heart? How does that work if we have been given free will? Doesn’t Pharaoh have a choice? Y friend, Jeanne Pinard of blessed memory, taught me this. Pharaoh keeps making choices. Every time he chooses badly, his heart is hardened a little more. He is so very stubborn. He is more concerned with his own interests than those around him.  That’s how G-d hardens his heart.  

 While we remember each of the plagues, which punished the Egyptian Pharaoh and his people alike, we remember the midrash that G-d rebuked the angels from celebrating. “My creatures are downing, and you rejoice?” We can’t rejoice over the pain Pharaoh and G-d caused to the Egyptians. Or in today’s day, the very real pain caused to Palestinians, or frankly the hostage families by waiting to come to terms on a ceasefire. That was stubbornness. How many fewer people, including Hersh would be dead if the plan had been accepted in May? 

At times while wandering in the wilderness the Israelites, themselves were also described as stubborn. One of our Psalms from Friday night even says, “Harden not your heart in the ways of your ancestors who tried Me and tested Me in the wilderness, even though they had witnessed my miracles.” 

Stubbornness can be good. It can lead to survival. It can lead to perseverance. It can lead to resilience.  

This is a week where hope seemed in short supply. Where compassion and empathy seemed to be waning. Where the promised redemption is not yet complete. Last week I mentioned Edmund Fleg, a French philosopher who wrote this in 1927: 

I am a Jew
I am a Jew because my faith demands of me no abdication of the mind.
I am a Jew because my faith requires of me all the devotion of my heart.
I am a Jew because in every place where suffering weeps, I weep.
I am a Jew because at every time when despair cries out, I hope.
I am a Jew because the word of the people Israel is the oldest and the newest.
I am a Jew because the promise of Israel is the universal promise.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, the world is not completed; we are completing it.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, humanity is not created; we are creating it.
I am a Jew because Israel places humanity and its unity above the nations and above Israel itself.
I am a Jew because, above humanity, image of the divine Unity, Israel places the unity which is divine. (After Edmond Fleg, “CCAR Rabbi’s Manual”, page 203-4) 

The world is not yet complete, we are completing it. His words, as complicated as the world is, give me hope. They are like the famous John F Kennedy quote from his inaugural address: “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country” 

I have a new friend, Ruth Gursky, from my running world. One of her friends, Rabbi David Okunov, who I don’t know taught this hope this week: 

“There are times when we all feel like our efforts don’t matter. It’s easy to become discouraged and question our purpose. But Judaism teaches us a powerful truth: everything we do matters, even when we can’t see the results. 

The Midrash tells us about the frogs in Egypt, seemingly insignificant creatures, who fulfilled their ultimate purpose by jumping into ovens during the plague of frogs, as described in this week’s Torah portion. Their act wasn’t random—it symbolized breaking Egypt’s defiance and making G-d’s presence known. If even frogs can fulfill a divine mission, how much more so can we, who are created in G-d’s image. 

Every mitzvah, every act of kindness, every good deed, adds to the beauty of the world and brings us closer to our purpose. You were created with a unique mission that no one else can accomplish. 

Never doubt your worth. You matter, and your actions have the power to transform the world.” 

I will be stubborn.  I will believe in you. And your actions to transform the world. I refuse to give up on the hostages. On working for peace. On loving my neighbor. On supporting the widow, the orphan and the stranger. On being caretakers of G-d’s beautiful creation.   

I refuse to give up on kindness. On compassion. On empathy. On hope. And sounding just like the song Imagine, “I hope you will join me. And the world will live as one.”  

This is a weekend designed for us to think about leadership. This is the weekend that we begin to read the book of Exodus, Sh’mot in Hebrew. It is also the weekend we observe Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King jr, we mark the yahrzeit of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel and his birthday too, and yes, there is an inauguration as well.  

In these first few chapters of the Book of Exodus, we see a lot of models of leadership. We see Miriam who hides Moses and quietly takes matters into her own hands to ensure the baby’s survival. We see Shifra and Puah who speak truth to power and enable the baby boy Israelites to be born. We see Batya, Pharaoh’s daughter who plucks Moses out of the water and takes him into the palace as her own. Perhaps she is the first foster mother. We see Tzipporah circumcising her son in order to protect him and her husband.  

And of course we see Pharaoh, Moses and Aaron.  

This is a story we know well. Our Haggadah retells the story and begins: 

We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and the L‑rd, our G‑d, took us out from there with a strong hand and with an outstretched arm. If the Holy One, blessed be He, had not taken our fathers out of Egypt, then we, our children and our children’s children would have remained enslaved to Pharaoh in Egypt. Even if all of us were wise, all of us understanding, all of us knowing the Torah, we would still be obligated to discuss the exodus from Egypt; and everyone who discusses the exodus from Egypt at length is praiseworthy. 

Don’t worry. This is not a Simon seder who always wants to emulate the rabbis of B’nei Brak. We won’t be here until midnight.  

But what does it mean for Moses to be called to go to Egypt and deliver what seems to be a simple message. “Shlach et ami. Let my people go.” He didn’t think he could do it. And he has real concerns. He doesn’t speak well. He worries that he will be killed since he himself killed the Egyptian taskmaster. And he likes his life as a shephard in Midian. Why should he go. But go he does. For 15 months we have had people, leaders, demand that Hamas, “Let my people go,” and today we stand on the cusp. Perhaps it will happen this weekend. Perhaps there will be a ceasefire and a cessation of violence. Dare we hope for peace? 

G-d sends Aaron to meet Moses. To help him deliver the message to Pharaoh. In what ways are we called to meet Moses and help?  

The vast majority of the portion we read today deals with the taskmasters. Our Haggadah text talks about  

“. . . My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt few in number and sojourned there; but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed hard labor upon us” (Deut. 26:5-6). . . . “And oppressed us,” as it is written: “They set taskmasters over them in order to oppress them with their burdens; the people of Israel built Pithom and Raamses as store cities for Pharaoh” (Ex. 1:11). 

Each of us is to see ourselves as though we were slaves in Egypt, that we were brought out of Egypt with a strong hand. What did it mean, then that Pharaoh and the taskmasters oppressed us, to impose hard labor upon us? Those cruel taskmasters made us make bricks but no longer supplied the raw material, the straw and still we had to make bricks at the same rate.  

While it might be good for the taskmasters, it was not good for the slaves, the worker bees. The real issue here was the taskmasters didn’t care. There was no compassion. No empathy.  

We probably know how Martin Luther King was assassinated in April of 1968. Standing on the balcony of his hotel in Memphis. But why was he in Memphis at all: 

On 1 February 1968, two Memphis garbage collectors, Echol Cole and Robert Walker, learn their names, were crushed to death by a malfunctioning garbage truck. Eleven days later, frustrated by the city’s response to the latest event in a long pattern of neglect and abuse of its primarily black employees, 1,300 black men from the Memphis Department of Public Works went on strike. This trike went on and on…and as we know everyone wants garbage collection. Let’s review: Hamas won that election in the Gaza Strip because they promised three things: schools, water and yes, garbage collection. King was there in Memphis to lend his support to the striking workers who were looking for dignity and compassion, safety and better working conditions. 

King did not live to see a resolution of that strike, nor many of the goals the Civil Rights movement. We are still not there yet. In a famous speech the night before his death a weary King, preached about his own mortality, telling the group, “Like anybody, I would like to live a long life—longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now … I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land” (King, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop,” 222–223). 

His concerns still happen in our modern world. Once when I was working for a sales lead generation firm, the owner, my boss, did not treat his employees well. One winter I got bronchitis, and my physician told me I had to take the rest of the week off. My boss’s response was to cut everyone’s sick time from four days a year to two. When one of my team members needed to go to the hospital because she couldn’t breathe, I sent her and another employee with her. He then yelled at me because I had caused us to lose two people’s productivity. There are more stories like that from there, and I didn’t last much longer, but I think about that when I read stories about Amazon warehouse or delivery workers, organizing at Starbucks, or the Imokelee tomato workers,  

Don’t worry, goes the theory. They can just find another worker. They are just cogs in a wheel. Right?  

Jewish workers have been at the vanguard of the organized labor movement. Perhaps hearkening all the way back to when we were slaves in Egypt. That ability to organize, Slowly over time, has resulted in things we often take for granted: safety in the workplace. The 40 hour work week, access to health care and day care. Pensions. Sick time. Labor Day itself.  

https://jewishcurrents.org/a-short-history-of-jews-in-the-american-labor-movement  

As we move into this new book of Exodus this year, and this new world that may not value individual worker, it behooves us to think about the leadership styles of those women of Exodus, and of Abraham Joshua Heschel whose feet were praying with Kind, and of Martin Luther King, and of Moses himeself.  

What set Moses apart as a leader:  

Moses didn’t want to lead. He wasn’t convinced that he had the skills. He was pretty sure he would fail. With the help of G-d, he surrounded himself with people who could help. Aaron went with him to Pharaoh to be his mouthpiece. 

Here’s one description of how Moses’ style influences the business world today: 

“The Bible sketches an ambitious list of leadership traits ascribed to Moses, including humility, empathy and heroism, but also patience, self-reflection, charisma and wisdom, among others. Although few can emulate all of these traits, humility is one that stands out. The Book of Numbers stresses that “Moses was a very humble man, more so than any other man on earth” (Num. 12:3). Hence, humility was clearly deemed an important trait and one that ought to be emulated by more people aspiring to lead others. After all, what is humility but the opposite of arrogance? Most people have an understandable dislike for arrogant leaders.” https://www.woolf.cam.ac.uk/blog/moses-as-a-model-for-effective-leadership  

Moses took care of his frustrating, kvetching, complaining people. With a great deal of what we might call chutzpah, this man with a speech impediment, successfully  argued with G-d to preserve them.  

But perhaps the most important thing we learn is that Moses was humble.  

 Now Moses himself was very humble, more so than any other human being on earth. (Numbers 12 : 3)  

We are told at the end of Deuteronomy, “Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses—whom יהוה singled out, face to face,” (Deut 34:10) 

Our job: Be like Moses and Heschel and King.

A piece of Talmud I have been thinking about all week often gets taught this way:
when one hears a fire truck going by with sirens wailing, one shouldn’t pray “please, God, let it not be my house burning” — either it is, or it isn’t, but the prayer won’t change whatever is already real. But where does this come from in Talmud? There were not fire engines back in the day. It comes from Berachot 9 and the idea that we should not say a prayer over something that has already happened or that is in vain. Sometimes this applies to medical diagnoses as well. We may already, for example, have cancer. We can’t change that now. We can manage how we respond to it. Rabbi Harold Kushner’s book is not “Why bad things happen to good people, but “when.” That doesn’t mean that the response is easy.  

Similarly, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel as cited in Gates of Prayer before the Amidah, as an intention, a kavanah which we used last night and this morning, said, 

“Prayer cannot bring water to parched fields, or mend a broken bridge, or rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart, and rebuild a weakened will.” 

“Pray as if everything depended on G-d; act as if everything depended on you. Who rise from prayer better person their prayer is answered.” (Gates of Prayer, page 157) 

Last night we talked about what we would put in a “go bag.” We talked about the samovar in my office that was carefully carried from Russia by the Goldstein family. It is heavy, brass, beautiful. And you could pack things inside of it. For thousands of years Jews have been forced to leave and leave quickly, all the way back to the Exodus from Egypt, the story of which we begin to retell next week. Sometimes people leave because of threats of violence. Sometimes in times of famine. Sometimes because of natural disaster. Our Haggadah begins the story with these words: “Our father was a wandering Aramean.” which is actually how Deuteronomy begins to retell the story.  

 Often, I play a game with our kids in Torah School—and sometimes even with adults at our seder table. You have 18 minutes to leave Egypt. What are you taking with you. Sometimes we do it in alphabetical order.  

This is no longer a drill. And not just in Southern California. We have had people displaced in our own community. Paul and Lynne Glaser in Ashville. Anita Silverman by fire at her senior living complex and now resettled but it took long months. And while her senior cat was rescued by the Schaumberg Fire Department, he was not welcome in her new apartment. Judy Richman from Del Webb when the tornado roared through last summer. The point is clear. Everyone should have a go bag. A list of what goes in that bag is included as a public service announcement at the end of this d’var Torah.  

We have a prayer, “Ma Tovu Ohalecha Ya’akov.” How lovely our own dwelling places, O Jacob, our sanctuaries O Israel.” They are indeed lovely.  But all too often we leave them and the belongings that are in them. 

While the dwelling places are lovely, the most important thing is the lives they contain. This week I made phone calls to fire victims in California on behalf of Congregation Or Ami in Calabasas in the Palisades. It’s what we’ve been talking about all year. It’s about connections. Community. The Amen Effect. It was something I could do. From here.  

Almost all the people I texted with or spoke with said the same this. They described themselves as lucky. Sad, maybe even depressed, missing family heirlooms and history and memories. Photos, art, Steinway pianos. And lucky. 

Sometimes we think that the jewelry, the china, the silver are our legacies. I look around my living room. Things I have acquired over a lifetime. Over several generations. But they are not really legacies. What is a legacy? 

Today’s portion is a bit of a challenge. Jacob is at the end of his life. He is “blessing” his sons. 

“The God of your father, who helps you,
And Shaddai who blesses you
With blessings of heaven above,
Blessings of the deep that couches below,
Blessings of the breast and womb.
The blessings of your father
Surpass the blessings of my ancestors,
To the utmost bounds of the eternal hills. 
May they rest on the head of Joseph,
On the brow of the elect of his brothers.” 

What follows is a “blessing” for each son. But they feel much more like a blessing and a curse:
Benjamin is a ravenous wolf;
In the morning he consumes the foe, 
And in the evening he divides the spoil.” 

 I don’t really want to be called a ravenous wolf as a blessing!

Perhaps the legacy, the blessing needs to be balanced. Balance is a key word. How do we maintain our balance when the world seems so out of kilter? What hope do we offer the next generations? How can I even dare to offer hope at times like these? What is the blessing in this moment? 

As you know, Simon and I hike extensively. 38 states and 5 foreign countries. One of our most memorable hikes was from Topanga Canyon Road down to where the MASH filming site was in Malibu Creek State Park. For me, it was thrilling (and exhausting because it was hike down and then hike back up!) as a big fan of MASH. But perhaps what was most magical was creating memories with our adult kids. One other critical hike was in Estes Park, CO in the Rocky Mountain National Park. The ranger we were hiking with talked about the growth after the fire there now many years ago. Almost immediately, little ferns begin to grow. Those bright green shoots fill me with hope. Earlier this week I saw a blog post about precisely this. “Look for the miracles,” the woman, she herself had been through a devastating fire several years ago, wrote. “Look for the ferns.”  

In another destructive fire, I was moved by a family who returned to their burned home to find the mezuzah still intact. I am considering buying mezuzot (I have ones in mind from Israel) to send to people at Or Ami. It is a way that we rededicate ourselves.  

Other times I have quoted Mr. Roger who used to say: “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” Our job is to find the helpers. Our job is to be the helpers. That’s how we “love our neighbors as ourselves.”  

Looking for the miracles and looking for the helpers is how we build resiliency. It is how we build community. It is how we build hope. Even in the worst of this current crisis there is evidence of hope. Life will continue (for most). Life will be changed. There will be mourning and grief. But life will continue. 

That mourning includes anticipatory mourning. Jacob did something else in this what could be called a “deathbed scene.” He left detailed instructions. He was to be buried not in Egypt but back in Canaan, back with his ancestors, with Abraham and Sarah, and Isaac in the cave of Machpelah. Joseph was able to convince Pharaoh to let him go to do this. All the dignitaries went too. In a scene reminiscent of this week’s state funeral held at the Washington National Cathedral with burial back in President Carter’s birthplace of Plains, Georgia. 

But after the burial at Machpelah, Rabbi Menachem Creditor reminds us of a midrash on this portion. Joseph returned to the pit where his brothers once threw him in. (Genesis Rabbah 100:8). He transformed this moment from trauma—real trauma—to gratitude. This is not easy to do. Creditor continues, citing Rabbi Matthew Berkowitz “comparing it to survivors revisiting places of profound suffering: a soldier returning to a battlefield, a Holocaust survivor journeying to a concentration camp (Returning to Joseph’s Pit, 2025). These acts are not about erasing pain but about reclaiming agency and gratitude, even in the face of profound hurt.” 

Joseph and his brothers mourned for Jacob after the burial for seven days. Ever wonder where the tradition of shiva comes from? Right here! 

This “pre-planning” is a real gift to your family. A blessing, a legacy. We have talked about this before. Part of your legacy might be writing an ethical will, so your children and grandchildren know your values. Part of it maybe offering forgiveness for things said, and those not said. Part of it maybe making clear the funeral plans.  

As we conclude this morning, we pray for healing. For ourselves, for our nation, for the people of California and Florida and Tennessee and North Carolina, for all of Am Yisrael including the hostages and the IDF and all those displaced from their homes, in the north of Israel, in Gaza, in Syria, in the Ukraine. ANd may we go forth from this book of Genesis stronger into Exodus where we are taught that we were wandering Arameans and slaves in the land of Egypt so that we have an obligation to be helpers, to welcome and love the widow, the orphan and the stranger. Chazak, chazak v’nitchazek.  

Before Misheberach:

A Prayer for Firefighters and First Responders
Blessed are the hands that pull others from the flames,
scarred hands, calloused hands, trembling hands,
hands that grip hoses and axes,
hands that steady the world when it shakes.
Blessed is the courage that rises
stronger and higher than smoke —
the courage that steps into the chaos,
the courage that doesn’t flinch at the sound of breaking glass and metal,
that doesn’t stop even when the air burns and the ash falls.
Blessed is the heart that holds two truths at once:
the knowing that life is fragile,
and the stubborn faith that saving one life
is enough to hold up the universe.
We pray for the strength to carry the burden of this holy work.
For lungs that can breathe through the thickest soot.
For arms that will not falter,
even when the weight feels unbearable.
And we pray for their return.
For safe passage through the fire, the flood, the storm.
For nights where they can rest,
and mornings where they can hold their children
without the smell of smoke on their skin.
May they know that we see them,
that we hold them in the deepest parts of our hearts,
that their work is sacred,
like the flame that burns but does not consume.
Blessed are the ones who run toward the danger,
who wade into the waters,
who carve paths through the wreckage—
not because they are fearless,
but because they refuse to let fear have the final day.
Let them be guarded by something larger than themselves:
a voice in the wildness saying,
“You are not alone. You are not alone.”
And may the Holy One—by whatever name they call—
watch over them always,
and bring them back home.
Amen.
     Sarah Tuttle Singer 

 Before Candle Lighting, both Friday night with two tapers and Saturday night for havdalah where those tapers become one “fire” with multiple wicks, usually representative of the community coming together:  

Burning Hope by Paul Kipnes 

Last night, two fires raged to within 5 miles my three holy places: our home, our synagogue Congregation Or Ami, and my father-in-law’s house. We packed, prepared to evacuate, only to see amazing firefighting teams knock the fires down. Lying in bed this morning, trying to figure out what comes next, I felt a flicker burning within. Which became … 

Burning Hope
By Paul Kipnes
A flicker in the endless dusk,
A spark that whispers, Not yet lost.
Beneath the ash of dreams lifelong,
A stubborn ember, frail but strong.
It dances through the choking smoke,
Defying winds that would revoke
Its fragile right to blaze anew,
A beacon for the shattered few.
The world may press with heavy hands,
May scatter stone and barren sands,
But hope, though burning, never dies—
It smolders soft in weary eyes.
Overnight, as fears are cultivated,
It refuses to be evacuated.
A quiet hope to heal the earth,
Through morning’s light, it finds rebirth. 

I saw this one of Facebook and didn’t snag the author, so I apologize. If I find it I will add the attribution. We talk a lot about balance at CKI. It is true of some of our basic elements as well. Water and fire. They are both necessary and can be destructive. She captures this:

FOR BLESSING AND NOT FOR CURSE 

Creator of all things,
your creations fill the Earth. 
With a simple glance I
behold the bounty 
of your makings.
The living creatures of
flesh and breath,
the foliage which feeds,
the elemental powers which
we attribute to your actions.
We cannot simply pray 
for abundance when too much 
becomes a curse.
Reliant on the rain
whose waters sustain
in scarcity 
delivers death with drought
in abundance
engulfs and drowns.
Reliant on the fire
whose heat warms 
in scarcity
bears fatality with frost
in abundance
engulfs and incinerates.
The same water which
fuels can flood.
The same fire which
fuels can destroy.
We cannot pray them away.
Creator of all things,
we pray for balance
blessing, not curse
life, not death
satiety, not want
knowing one shifting wind
can change our fate.  

Go bags:

From the Westchester County Website: 

• Bottled water and nonperishable food, such a s granola bars 

• Personal hygiene items (toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, wet wipes, etc) 

• Flashlight, hand-crank or battery-operated AM/FM radio, and extra batteries 

• Portable cell phone charger 

• Notepad, pen/pencil, and marker 

• Local street maps (paper version) 

• Spare home/vehicle keys 

• Whistle or bell 

• First aid kit 

• Dust mask to reduce inhalation of dust and other debris 

• Work gloves 

• A change of clothing (long sleeve shirt/pants, rain gear, sturdy footwear, etc.) 

• Copies of important documents (insurance/medical cards, contact lists, identification, marriage and birth certificates, etc.) in a portable, waterproof container or plastic bag 

• Back-up medical/assistive equipment and supplies 

• A list of the medications you take, why you take them, and the dosages 

• Cash, in small bills 

• Supplies for your service animal or pet 

In my go bag, I will also put one piece of irreplacebale jewelry that was my grandmother’s, a daisy pearl pin and a piece of silver that rode out the Chicago Fire in 1871. My daughter plans to take her first Disney medal.  

This is a portion about reconciliation, about survival, about migration. It feels like a recap of all the themes of Genesis which we wrap up next year. 

Joseph finally sees his father again. Hallelujah! 

Joseph is amazed that his father is still alive. How is that even possible. “So Joseph ordered his chariot and went to Goshen to meet his father Israel; he presented himself to him and, embracing him around the neck, he wept on his neck a good while.” (Gen 46:29) 

This is an emotional scene for both of them! Let’s remember, Joseph was thrown in a pit and sold into slavery. Then the brothers told their father that Joseph was dead and showed him that famous coat of many colors soaked in animal blood.  

This part of the d’var Torah may need a trigger warning. No parent should have to bury a child as the conventional wisdom says. Yet it happens all too frequently. To even members of our own congregation. Jacob maybe flamed the sibling rivalry with that coat, but the brothers should not have tricked their trickster father.  

Children are often angry with the way parents parent. There is a new trend in the United States of adult children, often sons of fathers, who cut off ties with their parents, primarily the fathers. If you google for this trend you will find lots of articles. Perhaps the best one may be behind a paywall but worth finding it is from the New Yorker magazine. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/annals-of-inquiry/why-so-many-people-are-going-no-contact-with-their-parents I encourage you to read it if you can get to it. 

But Israel when he get to Egypt and sees Joseph says “Then Israel said to Joseph, “Now I can die, having seen for myself that you are still alive.”” (Gen. 46:30) 

They and the brothers found a way to reconcile. It isn’t easy. And it is important to note in the Maimonides guide to teshuvah if someone sincerely apologizes three times and it isn’t accepted, it is on the other person. 

Joseph then presents Jacob also known as Israel to Pharaoh who wonders how old Jacob is. 130 is the answer. Pharaoh promises to take care of him and Joseph’s brothers.  

Pharaoh comes up with an equitable arrangement. Declaring that of their holdings, 1/5 and only 1/5 would be Pharaoh’s and rest of the holdings would be for Jacob and his descendants. This seemed to please everyone and our story end with this line: 

“Thus Israel settled in the country of Egypt, in the region of Goshen; they acquired holdings in it, and were fertile and increased greatly.” (Gen 47:27) 

Fertile and increase. P’ru u’vru. The same language that is used at the beginning of Genesis when G-d commands Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply.  

Next week we read the very last of Genesis and then move on to Exodus where we learn that after 400 years a new Pharaoh arose who knew not Joseph. The Israelites did in fact multiple and Pharaoh was afraid that they would attack the Egyptians and there were not enough resources to go around.  Does that sound familiar? 

We are told to make Kiddush for two reasons. One to remember Creation. And one to remember the Exodus from Egypt, another great migration story.  

While this was written thousands of years ago, the underlying themes are still relevant in our day. 

Famine…migration because of famine…enough resources…even to our own day. People talk about the Great Migration when so many Irish arrived on these shores. Who read Grapes of Wrath, one of my all time favorite books but perpetually on banned book lists. That was internal migration during the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl from Oklahoma to Bakersfield, CA. Who can forget the picture of the Syrian boy in the red t-shirt who died on the coast of Turkey trying to reach Greece. These images are likely, sadly, to increase with famine from climate change dominating the news. 

https://www.migrationpolicy.org/article/emerging-crisis-famine-returning-major-driver-migration 

People are often forced to make impossibly difficult choices. Food, heat, medicine, medical care. The number one reason in this country for bankruptcy is medical debt. 58% of Americans are living paycheck to paycheck and many are one paycheck away from bankruptcy and could not afford a $1000 emergency expense.  

While moat of us no longer live on farms that is part of what was driving Joseph’s brothers and his father to seek relief from famine in Egypt. 

Here in Elgin, we are lucky. With the help of organizations like Food for Greater Elgin, and Elgin Cooperative Ministries, we manage to feed the hungry seven days a week. As we approach Martin Luther King Day, we will once again participate in the Elgin Martin Luther Food Drive, which support many of our local pantries, not just Food for Greater Elgin. Over the next two weeks, we will ask you to bring non-perishables to CKI which we will then deliver towards the total count. It is this kind of coming together, just like Jacob, Joseph and his brothers, that brings me hope.  May we be blessed in the new year to not experience famine, separation of families and hard choices between food, heat and medicine.

The last few weeks have been about dreams, visions. This week, this is no exception. Our haftarah gives us two visions. 

I’m going to ask you to close your eyes to see if you can envision this first one: 

He said to me, “What do you see?” And I answered, “I see a lampstand all of gold, with a bowl above it. The lamps on it are seven in number, and the lamps above it have seven pipes; 

and by it are two olive trees, one on the right of the bowl and one on its left.” 

“Do you not know what those things mean?” asked the angel who talked with me; and I said, “No, my lord.” 

This is a vision of the Menorah, the seven branched candelabra first in the mishkan and then in the Holy Temple. The Menorah that was carted off to Rome and is pictured in bas relief on the Titus Arch. 

The word menorah is fascinating. It has ner, candle and or, light both embedded in it. These candles are to bring light. To be the light.  

Despite this, at least for me the vision of what this candelabra was to look like is not very clear. Do any of you have a clear image? Look around you. There is a concept in Judaism of hiddur hamitzvah, beautifying the mitzvah. In our windows we have 8 different chanukiot in our windows, each one beautiful in their own right.  

But what is a mitzvah? I am working my way through Michael Strassfeld’s Disrupted Judaism. “Hasidim teaches that the word mitzvah/commandment is related to the Aramaic word tzavta, which means connection.” He concludes that mitzvot are not items to check off a list but rather opportunities for connection. For Strassfeld, the mitzvot provide opportunities for connection to other people, to our vision of life, to this planet to the unity underlying the universe and finally to ourselves.   

In every synagogue, there is a ner tamid, an Eternal light. This light is to be kept burning for all times. This congregation is fortunate to have two. One here in this room, in the sanctuary, the mishkan or mikdash. And another in the room we call the library or chapel.   Each is beautiful in their own right.  

Both spaces are consecrated, made holy and that is what we do as a part of Chanukah, which means dedication, we rededicate these sacred spaces. 

And we have a job to do to make sure that these spaces are sacred. To keep the lights burning. To make sure that they don’t go out. One day, Dick Johnson came to me to tell me that the light in here was out. There was an edge of almost panic in his voice. It turned out that it was an easy fix. The lightbulb needed to be replaced. In truth, it is easier now with LED bulbs since they last so much longer. Thank you, Gene! But to the idea of mitzvah as connection, it is incumbent of all us to watch, to make sure that the light doesn’t go out. And if it does go out, to work together to rekindle it. 

That is the message of Peter Yarrow’s song, “Light One Candle” the chorus of which is “Don’t let the light go out.” It is incumbent on all of us to make sure that the light doesn’t go out. Peter recently entered hospice and we sang his song last night. Peter’s light and his music will not go out long after he passes. He will leave a lasting legacy. 

Still in Strassfeld’s book, he quotes Rav Kook, “Take that which is old/tired/routine and make it new. And take the new and make it holy.” Let me read that again: “Take that which is old/tired/routine and make it new. And take the new and make it holy.” 

Here at CKI we have a vision statement. We are a Jewish community that cherishes life long learning, building community, creating meaningful observance and embracing diversity. 

Meaningful observance is like the menorot in the windows. There is no one way to do Jewish. What is meaningful to me may not be to you and visa versa. Yet together we are a community, embracing that very diversity. That is not to say we have no community standards. We do. Rather, it is about taking the old and making it new and meaningful, together. It is about meeting each of you where you are, wherever you are on your Jewish journey.  

How we light the candles is an example of this. This is a Talmudic debate that has gone on for two thousand years.  

Do we light the lights as Shammai, all of them the first night and reducing them by one each night? He based his argument on the offerings for Sukkot. But Hillel countered and said we light one more light each night. Now we all “know” how the argument was settled. We add more light each night. Yet in some households, they go with Shammai. Or they light both ways. It’s not wrong. It’s the minority opinion.  

Here we increase the light, we increase the holiness, we increase the joy. Light brings joy. 

Joy can be tricky. Happiness can be tricky. Neither one of them can be a constant state. We can’t always be happy. Perhaps as someone suggested the goal is to be content. 

Rabbi Evan Moffic wrote a book The Happiness Prayer where he outlines what we need to do to be happy. 

“These are the obligations without measure, whose reward, too, is without measure: To honor father and mother; to perform acts of love and kindness; to attend the house of study daily; to welcome the stranger; to visit the sick; to rejoice with bride and groom; to console the bereaved; to pray with sincerity; to make peace where there is strife…and the study of Torah is equal to them all, because it leads to them all.” (Talmud, Shabbat 127a) 

For him, these actions bring happiness. Perhaps even joy.  

Strassfeld says it this way: “Hasidim’s emphasis on was rooted in a much broader world view, rejecting the asceticism of earlier Jewish mystics.”  

Being useful brings joy. Doing for others brings joy. 

Psalm 97 teaches, “Or zarua latzdik u;yishrainlev simcha. Light is sown for the righteous and joy for the upright in heart.” First, we are righteous, then we get to experience the joy.  

The concept of rabbinic debate is not only ancient. My study partner and I debate what the core idea of Judaism is. She says it is to find meaning. I saw it is to find joy. But what if we are both right? By finding the meaning, we find the joy.  

Today I am wearing this new t-shirt, “In a world full of darkness, be a light.” I challenge each of you to figure out how you can be a light. How your little light, will bring us out of darkness. Maybe in combination with others.

Our portion end with this: 

“Then he explained to me as follows:  

“This is the word of GOD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit—said GOD of Hosts. 

Whoever you are, O great mountain in the path of Zerubbabel, turn into level ground! For he shall produce that excellent stone; it shall be greeted with shouts of ‘Beautiful! Beautiful!’” 

You have undoubtably seen those stickers often on bank or fast food drive thrus: “You are beautiful.” Like the menorot in our windows, each different, each of you is beautiful. Very beautiful. You and you and you and you.  

How many of you have seen Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat? I see and hear this portion in those terms.  

This is an old, old story. Yet, this is a portion that seems ripped from the headlines today. These stories go on and on.  

Joseph is sold, taken to Egypt and becomes the head of Potipher’s, his master’s house. The text tells us something wonderful: “Now Joseph was well built and handsome.” How nice. Who wouldn’t want to spend time with this good looking guy. The master’s wife is no exception. She tried to get him to, you know, lie with her. Joseph refused, multiple times. However, at one stage she managed to rip his cloak from him. She falsely accuses him of going after her and he is thrown in jail. 

False accusations are akin to gossip, rumor. It is expressly forbidden in Judaism. On Yom Kippur when we recite the sins, more have to do with our speech than any other category. There is an old story about two women who are sniping at each other and telling tales about each other all over town. They go to the rabbi for help. He, it’s always a he in these stories, tells them something surprising. Take a down pillow into the town center, rip it open and scatter all the feathers. They do just as he said. It didn’t help. They go back to the rabbi. He tells them to go back and collect all the feathers. Impossible. So, it is with words. Once they are out of your mouth, they are impossible to get back. The damage is done. (I’ve actually told this story before and scattered feathers to let kids collect them. Much harder than gathering Hershey’s kisses at a B-Mitzvah!) 

Recently, just this month as CNN reported, “More than 18 years after accusing three former Duke University lacrosse players of raping her, a falsified account she shared in graphic detail, Crystal Mangum has admitted she lied about the encounter. I testified falsely against them by saying that they raped me when they didn’t, and that was wrong. And I betrayed the trust of a lot of other people who believed in me,” Mangum said on Katerena DePasquale’s show, “Let’s Talk with Kat.” “I made up a story that wasn’t true because I wanted validation from people and not from God.” 

The damage that she did to the lacrosse players may never be completely undone.  

Yet, the damage done is to more than the players, to Duke and to court system. The damage effects every woman who does have the courage to report a real sexual assault.  

“False reports hurt not only the people falsely accused, they hurt every rape victim,” Jennifer Simmons Kaleba, vice president of communications for RAINN, told CNN. “There are already too many victims who do not report the crime for fear of not being believed. After a false report in such a high-profile case, even more survivors may be reluctant to come forward out of fear that law enforcement will not believe them.” 

According to one study 63% of sexual assaults are not reported. https://www.nsvrc.org/sites/default/files/Publications_NSVRC_Overview_False-Reporting.pdf There are many reasons for that. Among them the fear of not being believed because of false reporting. Having served on a rape and domestic violence hotline, I can tell you that women fear reporting because they are afraid they will not be believed.  

 This is a worldwide problem.  

In France recently, 51 men were convicted of drugging, raping and filming their escapades. The evidence was irrefutable. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/12/19/world/europe/pelicot-rape-trial-guilty-verdict.html  In this case, there were no false accusations and the primary victim did not even know that she was a victim until 2020 when confronted by the photographic evidence. She had worried about why her hair was falling out and unexplained. memory losses.  

After October 7th it became clear that many victims had been sexually assaulted. We know that rape is a tool of war. Yet it took the UN until March to recognize the truth of it. Here is their press release: https://press.un.org/en/2024/sc15621.doc.htm  

There are still women being held as hostages. What horrors have they experienced in captivity? There are still 13 women who are being held as of Nov. 25, the International Day of the Elimination of Violence Against Women. https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=531232856456698  

The text tells us the G-d was with Joseph:
“GOD was with Joseph, and he was a successful man; and he stayed in the house of his Egyptian master.” (Gen. 39:2)  

“GOD was with Joseph—extending kindness to him and disposing the chief jailer favorably toward him.” (Gen 39:21) 

“The chief jailer did not supervise anything that was in Joseph’s charge, because GOD was with him, and whatever he did GOD made successful. (Gen 39:23) 

This hope leads to the song from Joseph: 

Close every door to me,
Hide all the world from me
Bar all the windows
And shut out the light 

Do what you want with me,
Hate me and laugh at me
Darken my daytime
And torture my night 

If my life were important I
Would ask will I live or die
But I know the answers lie
Far from this world 

Close every door to me,
Keep those I love from me
Children of Israel
Are never alone 

We pray that G-d is with the hostages, all of the hostages, and their families, that they know the sense of not being alone, even in those darkest tunnels. Yes, we pray for the Gazan and Syrian and Lebanese mothers and children. For all those who experience sexual violence, in the US, France, Gaza, the West Bank, around the world, that they have the courage to survive and report it. We pray for a day where sexual violence will not be a tool of war. Full stop.  

It is really very simple. Don’t gossip. Don’t engage in rumors. Don’t create false rumors. If someone tells you that they have been assaulted, believe them.  

What a perfect portion for this morning. We’ve just celebrated the wonderful naming of Ruth. You have brought your child here to give her a Hebrew name, to dedicate her to the Jewish people, to G-d. How appropriate in this month of Kislev, the month of Hanukkah, the word itself means dedicate. 

This portion is all about descendants and their names. You didn’t select one of those names. 

Our portion begins with Rachel giving birth. She names the child Ben Oni, son of my sorrow but Jacob calls him Binyamin, son of my right hand. 

Sadly, she died. Right there on the road to Bethlehem. Near Hebron, also called Kiryat Arbah. Those name places are still in the news, especially at this season.  

Children should be seen but not heard was a former method of parenting. Children are a burden, according to an old Scottish story that becomes part of the charming Brownie Story. The poor shoemaker was upset that the children weren’t helping with any chores. The children consult a wise old owl who tells them to be the brownies, the fairies that their father had wished for. They return home and secretly begin doing those chores. They learn that children are a blessing. 

Psalms teach us: “Children are a heritage of God, the fruit of the womb is a precious reward.” (Psalm 127:3)  

We have just seen right here this morning that children are indeed a blessing. 

In the old days, including Biblical times, a woman’s worth was defined by her children. Being barren was seen as a curse from G-d. We have examples of Sarah, Rebecca, Hannah and Racel herself, all of whom were barren. Given birth was a scary event. Jewish women attending a birth would circle the birthing stool with a red thread to protect the mother and child and to ward off Lilith.  

If you walk through an old cemetery in New England, you find too many graves that are simply labeled mother or baby. Those babies don’t even have a name. In an agricultural economy, women had many children in order to work in the fields.  

Maternal health improved in this country for decades. But access to maternal health care has not been equitable. Sadly, maternal health in this country has slipped in recent years. 

“80 percent of maternal deaths are preventable—yet in the US, the maternal health crisis has only worsened in recent years. Even as one of the wealthiest countries on the planet, the US ranks 55th in the world for maternal mortality, according to a 2020 WHO report—the worst of any developed nation.” https://perelelhealth.com/blogs/news/maternal-health-crisis#:~:text=80%20percent%20of%20maternal%20deaths,worst%20of%20any%20developed%20nation.  

Those numbers are predicted to become worse as we have heard the stories of women being denied necessary, needed health care with various abortion bans in some states. At this stage we are still lucky in Illinois.  

Yet, we have had examples of mothers who have lost full term babies, even here at CKI. We have had women who have wanted to conceive and could not. There was another baby born this week at CKI, and we will be delighted to name her soon and welcome her warmly into the CKI community. The family went through IVF. As their facebook announcement proclaimed: “We hold space and light for anyone struggling with infertility and will always chat with folks who want to learn more about fertility treatments and support systems.” 

The text tells us that Rachel wept for her children. 
She continued to weep:
Thus said GOD:
A cry is heard in Ramah—
Wailing, bitter weeping—
Rachel weeping for her children.
She refuses to be comforted
For her children, who are gone. 

Thus said GOD:
Restrain your voice from weeping,
Your eyes from shedding tears;
For there is a reward for your labor
—declares GOD: 

They shall return from the enemy’s land.
And there is hope for your future
—declares GOD:
Your children shall return to their country.
Jeremiah 31:15-17 

On that road to Bethlehem there is a shrine that is holy to Jews, Christians and Muslims. Rachel’s Tomb, Kever Rachel in Hebrew, Qabr Rachil in Arabic. It has been a source of comfort for mothers facing infertility. I have known women who have gone to Kever Rachel for precisely this reason. Yet the borders in that part of the Middle East are still very much in dispute and who has access on any given day can be in question. The security risks are real. 

Rachel is still weeping for her children. This has been particularly true this year. I watched a video recently of three Rachels, Rachel Goldberg Polin, mother of Hersh Goldberg Polin, Rachel Goldberg, mother of Avi Goldberg who fell in battle, moderated by Rachel Shransky Danziger on the yahrzeit, Heshvan 11 by tradition of our matriarch Rachel. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZpCxgee7aDY 

 The weeping continues. When Hersh was killed there were several poems written. I went looking for them in preparing for today. I found one, on JTA, by my dear friend Rabbi Menachem Creditor: 

i dreamt I was dreaming
that a crying sky was imagined
that rachel’s cry could still be heard
that comfort would still be possible. 

i woke
to my People’s shattered heart
and photos of six precious Jewish children
whose cries are no longer heard.
may their souls finally be at rest. 

i walk through a haze
my mind races
my heart cries 

rachel, rachel, crying for her child.
i cry with you. 

Menachem Creditor 

As he said at the end of the article, “As long as any Rachel weeps, our work is not done. We must continue to be her voice, her hands, her hope, building a future where the promise of return and safety is fulfilled for those still in darkness.” 

 We all cry, just like Rachel. We cry for those unable to conceive, unable to get the health care they deserve, we cry for the remaining hostages and their families, we cry for those displaced in the North and the children going to school in hotel ballrooms, we cry for children used as pawns and human shields. We cry for the children injured in unnecessary wars, in Gaza, in Syria, in Ukraine, in Darfur. We cry. We cry. We cry.  

Yet, we dare to hope. We hope right here in Elgin. Because children are our guarantors. Our legacy. Yes. Children are our blessing. Mazel tov!  

Vayetzi, And Jacob went out. He was running away.  

Jacob was on a journey. He left everything he knew behind him and then he set out for Laban’s house, to find a wife and to escape his brother’s rath. 

We are all on a journey, from one place to another. And perhaps back again. 

He lay down with a stone as his pillow and he began to dream. A ladder going up and down. And on the ladder, angels, messengers, going up and down.  

I’ve been thinking a lot about tents this week. I love camping. It is something I choose to do. And once we went camping in Quebec, in Charlevoix, and it rained the whole time. Not easy for cooking. We played lots of boggle in the tent and ate more meals out in the little village than we had planned on. We ended that vacation in Quebec City in a very modern hotel. I slept better in the tent than I did in the hotel. It was quieter without the air conditioner fan noise! Oh, for sure there can be a rock that gets under you in a tent—usually my hip, but I haven’t tried a stone for a pillow!  

Balaam, the non-Jewish prophet who was hired to curse the Jews, instead blessed them and said, “Ma Tovu Ohalecha Ya’akov. How good are your tents O Jacob. Your dwelling places, O Israel.” We open every service with these words. They are particulaly meaningful this week after the fire at Tent City, the homeless encampment.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=Wj1oCAPqhwU 

When Jacob woke up he declared, “G-d is in this place and I knew it not.” He named the place Beth El, House of G-d.  

We are grateful to be in this building, with heat, and light, and a roof that doesn’t leak. With these beautiful stained glass windows. And we are grateful for all of you, for showing up, for being you, for building this community together. 

Along our way we may encounter angels, messengers. I remember a big argument with my father when I was in first grade. He insisted that Jews don’t believe in angels. He was wrong, but I got to do a different art project that year. No wreaths, angels or bells to decorate the classroom!  

The angels, malachim that are in the Hebrew Bible are not the Valentine’s Day, Hallmark card, Renaissance cherubim of Rembrandt, Raphael and Ruebens. Rather they were beings that came with a specific task, to guide us on our ways. Each one had a purpose or message. For instance, in the story of Abraham and his three visitors, each one had a unique mission. The first announced that Sarah would have a baby. The second announced that Sodom and Gomorrah would be destroyed. The third messenger was sent to test Abraham’s faith. 

Perhaps you have encountered an angel or a messenger. Someone in the right place and the right time to communicate just what you are supposed to do or to guide you over a particular hump. Sometimes they are not easy to spot. Sometimes they remind me of Clarence in It’s a Wonderful Life. If you haven’t seen that classic Christmas movie, you really should. It is so very Jewish in its themes. 

When my mother was dying, there were some big decisions that needed to be made. I was by myself at the hospital in Grand Rapids. The rest of the family had not yet arrived. My daughter was a freshman in college. She was trying to balance starting school well and being in Grand Rapids. Seemingly out of nowhere, a high school classmate who worked in the hospital as an anesthesiologist found me in the stairwell. She told me it was all going to be OK. An angel? You bet. And I am forever grateful. 

Fred Rogers, from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood had this to say: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, “Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” 

This week we had the opportunity to see lots of helpers. Lots of angels and messengers. That’s where I get my hope.  Each of you is an angel. 

Sometimes, however, those messengers and messages come in the middle of the night. Seemingly when we are all alone. That seems to be true of Jacob. Both in our story today and how our story ends.
Our story ends today with Jacob going out. He is going back to Isaac’s house. It i twenty years later. He is a different man, older, perhaps wiser, with wives and servants, livestock. Next week we will meet him again, alone again where he encounters another being, an angel, G-d himself. 

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav thought that each of us should be outdoors in nature pouring out our heart to G-d. Here is his prayer: 

Grant me the ability to be alone;
May it be my custom to go outdoors each day
Among the trees and grass—among all growing things
And there may I be alone, and enter into prayer, \
To talk with the One to whom I belong.
May I express there everything in my heart,
And may all the foliage of the field
All grasses, trees and plant–
Awake at my coming. 
To send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer
So that my prayer and speech are made whole
Through the life and spirit of all growing things
Which are made as one by their transcendent Source.
May I then pour out the words of my heart
Before Your Presence like water, O Lord.
And lift up my hands to You in worship,
On my behalf, and that of my children! 

Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav 

Debbie Friedman, z’l set it to beautiful music.  

This is not unlike Henry David Thoreau describing why he went to Walden Pond: 

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”  

How Jewish. Going to the woods to live deliberately. With intention. With kavanah.  

We are each on a journey, May we be blessed as we go on our way, coming and going. May we discover as they did in Tractate Sukkah the place that our hearts hold dear: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9-2t7W_8M0 

Makom she-libi ohev, sham raglai molikhot oti.”
“The place that my heart holds dear, there my feet will bring me near.”
     Mishnah,Tractate Sukkah 

May you find the messengers and the messages of your lives. May you be an angel for someone else.